


You Won't Hurt Me

by boywifebruce



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Body Worship, Extremely Underage, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywifebruce/pseuds/boywifebruce
Summary: “Why did you bring me here?”Arthur held his arms to his chest. “All you’re doing is asking questions,” he said, half-laughing and smiling. But his smile was defensive. Guilty.“It’s because I don’t understand you.”It felt like a punch to his chest. “That’s fair.”“You’re really weird. Alfred said you could have hurt me like you tried to hurt him, but I don’t think you would. You like me."Arthur wanted to see him again. Ever since the first time he'd met him, he couldn't think of anything else. His thoughts were obsessively about Bruce, about this boy he'd only known for the briefest of moments, and he craved for him. It hurt to be alone.--Tags and Warnings will be updated as chapters are added to this story.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 135





	You Won't Hurt Me

**Author's Note:**

> it's about damn time i wrote something for my favorite movie about my favorite character and my favorite pairing lol. i wrote this in two and a half hours at the library
> 
> this is gonna be a multi-chapter story, idk how many chapters though but i promise it wont end up like my previous multi-part works throughout the years LMAO i think i finally learned how to uh write and finish a story (i say as i have three separate wips open in google docs as we speak)
> 
> anyway please enjoy

“How did you know where I went to school?”

Bruce looked directly at him, his eyes inquisitive and piercing. He was only a boy, but sometimes his nature sent chills down Arthur’s spine. Bruce had a lollipop in his mouth that Arthur had given to him and he’d accepted it with only slight hesitation. 

“I dunno,” Arthur said, shrugging. “It was the only private school within city limits. It was the first place I looked.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

Arthur didn’t respond for a moment as he took a long drag from his cigarette. He glanced at Bruce, feeling his eyes on him, searching for answers, before looking away and blowing out smoke.

“I just wanted to see you.” His voice was quiet. It had a tinge of self-awareness and guilt. Bruce, the perceptive little boy that he was, heard it clearly. “I couldn’t come to your house, so I…”

He looked back at Bruce. He was looking at his legs.

“Alfred doesn’t know I’m with you,” he said. He was sitting so still, simply looking at Arthur, only moving to breathe and open his mouth to speak. His hands rested on either side of his legs as he sat next to Arthur on the subway, looking up at him with a curious yet critical eye. Arthur knew he wasn’t stupid; Bruce knew he shouldn’t have been around Arthur, and yet he came with him regardless.

“That’s probably for the best,” Arthur said, smiling, and taking another drag from his cigarette.

\--

“Do you live by yourself?”

They had entered Arthur’s cheap, rundown apartment, and Bruce stood in the entryway. He was in his full school uniform—a blazer, a tie, shorts that came down to his knees. Socks that came up to his knees, dress shoes. He was immaculate and professional; the culmination of his boyhood lay bare in one simple outfit. Arthur had taken off his shoes and dusty jacket, but Bruce only stood there.

The first time Arthur had met Bruce, it had been under dangerous circumstances. He had greeted the little boy through the gate of his estate and he’d done his best to seem nice and friendly. He’d wanted Bruce to know right off the bat that he was a good guy. It hadn’t gone well. He’d even brought him gifts and had tried to perform a little magic trick to amuse him, to win his trust. He’d really wanted Bruce to like him ever since he saw his photo in the newspaper, but he just had to go and mess it up.

He knew it was a bad idea to try to see him again. Since he’d attacked Bruce’s butler and been threatened by his—their father, he knew he couldn’t have tried to see him at Wayne Manor. He also knew it was bad that he was thinking about him so much: he thought about him in the morning when he made coffee, he thought about him in the bathtub as he soaked, and he thought about him at night when he had his hand in the front of his pants in the bed he shared with his mother.

They were always innocent thoughts, though, so they were okay. He just had them a lot, which was the only weird part. All he thought about were his eyes, his big, brown, doe-like eyes. All he thought about were his lips, so delicate and pretty and pink, smiling just for him. All he thought about was how small and fragile his neck was, the bones practically ready to snap, and how soft his sweater felt under his hands. That was all he thought about. But he thought about it all the time.

All Arthur wanted was to be a good big brother to him. He just wanted Bruce to like him and to have fun with him, but Arthur knew that might be hard, because Arthur wasn’t really right in the head and he felt that Bruce could tell. He only wanted to see Bruce at school or maybe take him out in the city to have fun, maybe do some things he never got to do with his parents. Like a real big brother.

But all that happened was the subway ride and then the walk to his apartment.

Bruce had agreed to go with him after class let out almost right away, but his face was always so serious and flat that Arthur couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe he liked it better like that, even if something felt off about it, like Arthur wasn’t seeing him fully. He paused when he saw Arthur waiting outside the school for him, freezing in place, before he calmly and easily walked up to him, asking why he was there.

It was a private school just for boys and they all wore the same outfit. Some wore tiny waistcoats and some had brown dress shoes instead of black, but they all looked identical. All of them except for Bruce. Bruce looked perfect, and Arthur had had to smile into the crook of his arm when he saw him walk out those doors and stand before him.

Arthur had asked him if he wanted to spend some time together. Bruce had agreed, and Arthur had felt his heart want to leap out of his chest.

They were in his apartment now, just the two of them. Arthur kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket onto the couch. He sighed and stretched, looking like a contortionist with his back turned to Bruce as he asked another question. Bruce kept a safe distance from him like he had on the subway, like he had since he’d met with him earlier that day.

“No,” Arthur responded. “I live with my mother.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in the hospital.” Arthur turned to look at Bruce, eyebrows raised and producing wrinkles upon wrinkles on his forehead. He looked so much older than someone in their mid-thirties, especially when he smiled afterwards.

Bruce was looking around the apartment again. “What happened to her?”

“She had a stroke.” Bruce was only eight and the chances of him knowing what a stroke was were slim, but, despite Bruce being only a child and being an expert when it came to children, Arthur had a hard time speaking to him as if he were one. “She’s in intensive care. But I usually see her every day, and she’s doing alright.”

“When will she come out?”

Arthur was staring at him. At his face. At his knees. His eyes moved to stare at the TV, which wasn’t turned on.

“I don’t know.” Another pause, and the two of them were quiet. “Do you, do you want anything to drink? Or eat? I have things in the fridge; do you wanna look around while I get you something?”

He went into the kitchen area, brushing past Bruce. Arthur did his best to give him a friendly smile, despite how anxious and claustrophobic his chest was feeling. He felt like his brain had been going on auto-pilot ever since he’d made the decision to pick Bruce up after school. Walls surrounding his conscious mind stopped thoughts about the world outside of the space and time he was sharing with Bruce, keeping him from thinking rationally. When he stepped closer to Bruce, when Bruce occupied his immediate proximity, he felt a lump in his throat even if nothing was really happening. He felt his nerves in his arms and legs vibrating with excitement. He was horribly nervous.

Bruce did finally step into the apartment proper, so polite and formal. He removed his shoes with more tact and care than Arthur had, unbuttoning the front of his blazer to get more comfortable. He stepped into the living room to look at the knicknacks, the curtains on the window, the bullet hole in the wall. Arthur saw him turn around to look back at him after he’d noticed it up close, but neither of them said anything. He went into the bathroom, then into the bedroom.

“This place is small,” he finally said. “Is it big enough for two people?”

“It’s big enough for me and my mother,” Arthur said, pouring Bruce a glass of milk. Children loved milk. “And it’s big enough for me and you.”

“Will you tell your mother that you brought me here?”

Arthur returned the carton to the fridge and headed into the bedroom to hand Bruce the glass he’d poured him. “No, she doesn’t know about you.” His voice had gone soft again.

Bruce took the glass and set it down on the nightstand. He didn’t thank Arthur; he just looked at his face as he received it. Arthur had a strange feeling about the questions that he was being asked, and it felt oddly analytical, but he couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t thinking clearly, but he felt tense every time Bruce asked a question, and he would just look at him. Into his eyes. And it scared Arthur to not know what it was that he was thinking. It made his anxiety and excitement worse.

Bruce touched his fingertips to the worn, thick comforter that was neatly tucked into the mattress. The bed was made, and even if everything else in Arthur’s life was falling apart, his own home was clean and put together, despite there being seemingly useless junk here and there. Arthur was a confusing, worrisome, chaotic person, but he was very homely and domestic when it came to his living conditions.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Arthur held his arms to his chest. “All you’re doing is asking questions,” he said, half-laughing and smiling. But his smile was defensive. Guilty.

“It’s because I don’t understand you.”

It felt like a punch to his chest. “That’s fair.”

“You’re really weird. Alfred said you could have hurt me like you tried to hurt him, but I don’t think you would. You like me. You like me, but you don’t like anyone else.”

“How do you know I don’t like anyone else?”

“Because if you did, you’d be with them and not me.” It was so easy for Bruce to say it and his tone was just as empty and flat and featureless as was his perpetual expression. It was as though he thought nothing about this, about where he was, who he was with, but Arthur tried to pay attention to his words and not the way he was saying them. “Did you ever have friends?”

“Why do you keep asking me these questions?”

“Because you’re not answering them.” Bruce sat on the bed and Arthur’s heart leapt again. His eyes ventured back down to Bruce’s legs. “You don’t have any friends because you’re weird. You live with your mother because you’re weird. Alfred doesn’t want me around you because you’re weird.”

Bruce pulled one leg up onto the bed and Arthur could see the curve of his knee and thigh. He could see further up Bruce’s shorts as the pant leg hung down and open. He couldn’t look away.

“You’re really mean,” Arthur said. His throat felt so dry.

“You keep looking at my legs.” Bruce leaned back on his hands, looking up at Arthur. Still his expression did not change, not in the slightest. But his eyes, his bright, doe-like, childlike, wide eyes, burned holes into Arthur’s soul. This stoic, marble statue of the perfection of childhood, this empty avatar of a boy, was judging Arthur like an angel in the name of God. He so quickly understood who and what Arthur was. He knew, and yet he stayed.

Bruce’s socked foot rested on the bed. Bruce wore thin black socks and they were of astounding quality, as Arthur could see the shape and form of each individual toe wrapped within them. As the band dug into the tops of his calves, Arthur could see the way the fat and flesh cut in and bloomed out from the top.

Arthur didn’t understand what he was doing and he felt like his body was still moving on its own. He moved to sit on the bed next to Bruce and the boy’s tormentous eyes followed him. He made no indication of getting up to get away from him. Arthur was laying on his side next to him, and he was looking at his tiny feet, his pale legs, his small hands, his cherubic face.

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” Bruce said, truthfully. “I just think you’re gross.”

Arthur’s eyes stung and his chest continued to hurt.

“Can I touch your legs?”

Bruce didn’t respond. Arthur didn’t feel him tense up, didn’t sense any change in his mood, and he wondered if his question had no effect on him. He wondered if Bruce understood the question, but didn’t care. Arthur wondered if Bruce really was eight years old.

He did, however, make to move over on the bed. The mattress dipped with both of their weights pressing down against it. Bruce rotated his body, swung both of his legs on top of the bed, and even though he was in this adult man’s apartment and agreeing to let him touch his body, he sat like an innocent child. His legs were gently folded and his shorts were beginning to ride up, just a bit. Arthur could see more of his skin.

Arthur’s nerves rocketed through his hand as it trembled and reached forward, but when his palm touched and melded with the soft, warm skin of Bruce’s thigh, Arthur closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as he began to shallowly stroke and caress. It gave him a high, a moment of clarity. Happiness, such happiness that had been deprived of him, forbidden joy that couldn’t be allowed, and he bit his bottom lip as he let his brain’s serotonin drown all his senses. He felt such loud happiness, and yet his mind screamed at him in the language of darkness. He felt himself torn between dying and touching Bruce even more.

He felt his groin heat up. Bruce’s thigh felt so plush underneath his burning fingers, and while they skirted at the hem of his shorts, only the very tips ever went underneath it. Arthur only touched what was allowed of him, what was uncovered for him, even though he so desperately wanted to feel more.

His hand trailed down from the smoothness of Bruce’s thigh and began playing with the band of his sock. Fingers trailed down his calf; the fabric was so fine and thin and sheer, it felt as though it was made of stockings or silk. They trailed down further, and Arthur was grazing his fingertips along Bruce’s small, delicate foot, the underside arch of his heel, the tiny toes that Arthur could see so clearly. He held Bruce’s foot in his hand and began to press his thumb into the arch, lightly massaging it while looking at nothing else.

“Your legs are so nice,” Arthur said with a slight whine. He curled inward on himself, pressed even closer to the object of his twisted desire. His breath ghosted across the paleness before him. “No one has legs like you. They feel so nice.”

Touching Bruce was as therapeutic for him as was petting a cat. He felt horrible and he wanted to cry, despite how blissful and euphoric this was for him. His mind was still a conflict of joy and dread.

“Do you bring other boys to your apartment like this?”

“No,” Arthur said, still whining. “Just you. Only you.”

“Am I the first boy you’ve done this to?”

Arthur’s fingers wrapped around Bruce’s ankle and began to feel the back of his thin calf. “You’re the only one I’ve wanted this bad. I think about you all the time.” Arthur sniffled, pressing his forehead against Bruce’s leg. “I’m sorry.”

He felt tiny, delicate fingers touch the top of his head. Arthur went rigid. The fingers wove their way into his long, greasy hair, and Arthur felt more relaxed than he’d been in a long time. This felt like it was a dream to him and he wanted to cry even more, because Bruce was being far nicer to him than he deserved, despite how cruel and perfect his words had been.

“I’m a bad man,” Arthur said, voice breaking. His hand went back to his thigh.

“You’re weird and pathetic,” Bruce said. “You like boys like me.”

“No, not boys like you, just you.”

“Am I really the only one?”

Arthur nodded and his face quivered as he felt the first few tears leak from his eyes.

“Then I don’t think you’re bad.” Arthur realized, then, that Bruce wasn’t being nice. He was pitying him. The hand in his hair, his long, greasy hair was there out of pity. “Maybe you are. Alfred and Father think you are, but I don’t. Not if it’s just me, if I’m the only one, then you’re just weird. You’re not bad unless you want to hurt me.”

“I only want to make you feel good. I just want to be a good big brother to you. I don’t know why I want this, I know it’s really bad, but I promise it’s just you.”

A few droplets began to dampen the comforter right beneath Arthur’s face. It was becoming uncomfortable to lay there.

“You’re a freak,” Bruce said, but his voice was barely above a whisper.

Arthur leaned forward, and pressed a loving kiss into his thigh. “I know. I’m sorry.”

\--

They laid in Arthur’s bed together until the light began to turn orange and fade away in the apartment and the world around them. Bruce was in Arthur’s arms, holding his own tightly against his body. Arthur brushed his thumb against Bruce’s shoulder, resting his head on top of Bruce’s. They were silent for hours. Arthur had thought Bruce would have fallen asleep, but he never did, and the two just laid there, saying nothing.

Bruce had only taken his blazer off when it had started to get warm, but beyond that, he was still in his button-up, his tie, his shorts, his socks. Arthur held him like a child, cradling the little boy in his arms so selfishly.

They laid like that for hours. The milk Arthur had poured for Bruce went entirely untouched.

“I should go home,” Bruce said into the quiet of the room. “It’s getting late.”

Bruce never mentioned anything about leaving the entire time he’d been with him, but Arthur knew it was inevitable and he didn’t hurt for it. He knew Bruce needed to be in his own bed that night, needed to be eating dinner with his family, and that they needed to know he was safe, despite laying in bed with a pedophile.

Arthur unwrapped his arms from around Bruce, and he grunted as he sat up, Bruce rising along with him. Bruce was quick and fluid, but Arthur’s bones and muscles popped and snapped. The tears had dried up on his face long ago, only leaving their residue on his cheeks, but he still felt drained and terribly sad. Holding this boy like he had wasn’t helping. His feelings of guilt never went away.

Bruce stood up off the bed and began slipping his blazer back on.

“Can I see you again?” Arthur asked, the question sounding as though he were the child and not Bruce. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Bruce didn’t look at him.

Arthur didn’t ask again as he walked Bruce to the door, and he didn’t ask anything else as Bruce bent down to slip his shoes back on. As Arthur leaned against the wall, his shirt off and pants hanging low, watching Bruce prepare to leave, he allowed his mind to wander. He asked questions he couldn’t form words to. Bruce had agreed to come with him and had followed him to his apartment; Bruce had allowed Arthur to lay his hands on him and let Arthur hold him in bed for countless hours until the sun began to set. Bruce had made no complaints, Bruce had no objections, and Bruce had only told him half of his thoughts.

Arthur didn’t know why he came here. Bruce had asked him why he brought him and the only honest answer Arthur had was that it was because he wanted to be happy and Bruce made him happier than anything in the world, but Arthur didn’t know why he came. Bruce had allowed and agreed to all of this, and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around why Bruce would want to be with him, of all people, especially once he knew what Arthur wanted.

Arthur’s mind broke through its heavy haze, and he saw, right then, that he really didn’t understand anything about this boy at all.

The day had been so strange, and Arthur was left wondering if any of this had even happened at all.

“When can I see you again?”

“You shouldn’t pick me up after school again,” was Bruce’s response. “If the teachers notice, they’ll tell my father. You’ll be in trouble.”

But he wasn’t telling Arthur to stay away, and, thus, he couldn’t help the smile creeping on his face.

“Where should I meet you, then?”

“I don’t know how to use the subway.” It was the first thing Bruce had said all day that was a true indicator of his age. Arthur smiled wider.

“Okay,” Arthur said, nodding. “I’ll meet you at the subway station.”

The young boy in his apartment had finished preening himself and he looked as immaculate and sheveled as he had when he arrived. His hair was entirely in place, his collar was pressed, his tie was straightened, and his socks were pulled up tight. Arthur gave him a longing look, admiring the boy wholly and unabashedly. He appreciated the silence, rather than fretting and agonizing over what would come afterwards.

Bruce placed his hand on the doorknob after undoing the lock and he turned to look at Arthur for one final time that evening.

“Thank you for not hurting me.”

“I never would, Bruce. Goodbye.” The word was painful.

Bruce opened the door, stepped outside, and Arthur was once again alone.

**Author's Note:**

> this was beta'd by fleckflesh aka chai on twitter dot com. he is my arthurbruce soulmate and i'm so thankful he helped me out with this and encouraged me and inspired me to write a story of my own. i've been screaming about this shit since the movie came out back in october but i haven't written anything because i was too busy drawing and throwing up. well guess what baby, my arm is fucked up from drawing too much so now i have no excuse not to write more
> 
> anyway if you enjoyed the fic please feel free to leave a like, comment, and subscribe, ring the notification bell, check out my patreon and don't forget to use the link in the description when you sign up for Raid: Shadow Legends. oh and follow me @boywifebruce on twitter too


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